


Keep Me Right

by Emcee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cheating, Drug Use, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Infidelity, POV Sherlock Holmes, Platonic Soulmates, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee
Summary: When you met the person whose name was inscribed on your arm, things were just supposed to click into place. Of course, Sherlock Holmes never did things the way he was supposed to. It seemed when he met his Soulmate things just became much more complicated.
Relationships: Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 52
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this an age ago and I just found it in my GDocs. I thought I'd share it to see what people thought of it.

Having a man’s name etched in his arm had never bothered Sherlock.

Of course, when he was in school it had led to a lot of accusations of homosexuality. That had never bothered him either. He knew he wasn’t attracted to men... Not that he had much use for women either.

The concept of the Soulmate had been distorted and twisted by romantic twaddle. Your Soulmate wasn’t necessarily the person you were meant to marry or spend days staring into their eyes. His mother used to say it was the person who fit you like a puzzle piece.

Sherlock had lamented he was not one of the lucky few who was Unmarked. He didn’t need another person in his life. He wanted to be alone. What use did he have for a Soulmate?

And then he actually met John Hamish Watson.

The moment he set eyes on the small army doctor Sherlock understood what everyone had told him about Soulmates meeting. Oh, the poetic dross was still just that, but Sherlock could interpret their immature thoughts.

John was not a puzzle piece. He was a cog that had been missing from the clockwork of Sherlock’s brain. He was a lens in a microscope Sherlock hadn’t realized wasn’t there until he could finally see everything clearly.

It wasn’t until three weeks after the Taxi case that they spoke about their shared fate.

“You know....”

Sherlock didn’t look up from his microscope, but knew John was standing by his shoulder.

“I’m not gay.”

Sherlock adjusted the magnification. “Things might have become awkward if you were.”

There was the rustling of fabric. “So we’re not going to talk about this?”

Sherlock glanced over, seeing _William Sherlock Scott Holmes_ written in cursive on John’s arm. “I was under the impression we were talking about it right now.”

“I’m just saying... I’m not gay.” John rolled his sleeve back down.

With a sigh, Sherlock pulled back from his microscope. “And if I were propositioning you for sex that would be an issue. In the half month you have known me, is there anything to indicate that I have a desire to fall into the arms of my soulmate like a swooning romance heroine? The spectrum of soulmates is much vaster than most people believe. Sex and romance is only one possible facet. If anything, I’m relieved that my Soulmate is simply a tool for my deductive reasoning. Are we finished now? I’d like to examine this culture.” He turned his attention back to his microscope.

The room was silent for a long moment. Finally, John’s voice broke the tension. “You know a lot about romance heroines?”

“It was for a case.”

* * *

Sherlock could feel Molly Hooper’s eyes on his arm. He’d rolled up his sleeves while he worked in the lab.

“So....” Molly eyed the name written on his arm. She could’ve at least made it subtle. “John Watson.”

“John Watson,” Sherlock repeated.

“Do you feel different?” Molly asked as she leaned against the counter. “Having met your Soulmate? I’ve read that it’s different for everyone and...”

“I’m different from everyone,” Sherlock finished for her. He sighed. “I suppose I do. My work has never been better since I met John. But I don’t know if that’s because of our connection or his interest in the work.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he reminded himself that Molly had always been interested in his work. It was such a quiet thought it was easy to push aside.

He briefly wondered what sort of person would be Molly Hooper’s Soulmate. He occasionally took Soulmate Matching cases, although he loathed them. It was something done out of desperation, when there was a lack of good murders to really keep him occupied.

Molly Hooper would have a Soulmate capable of pulling her out of her shell. That’s what a Soulmate was supposed to do, improve your life. Molly needed someone who could make her less mousey. He saw glimpses of it, when she didn’t flinch when he beat the corpse of someone she’d known.

She’d need someone who appreciated the grim nature of her job. As sunny a disposition as she had, her interests veered towards the macabre. She never would’ve followed her career path if it didn’t. She possessed a morbid sense of humour and was endlessly fascinated by interesting ways to die.

He supposed her Soulmate would be handsome too. Perhaps not classically good looking. Someone who many people found odd looking, but Molly would be happy staring at for the rest of her life.

Someone who would appreciate all of the little things Molly Hooper could do. She was more capable than even she knew.

“Sherlock?”

He blinked, Molly’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Is everything all right?” Molly smiled nervously. “You’ve been quiet for five minutes. Have you had a breakthrough on the case?”

Sherlock shook his head and turned his attention back to his work. He ignored the sick feeling that had grown in his stomach as he thought about Molly Hooper meeting her Soulmate.

* * *

“Well, thanks for that, Sherlock!”

Sherlock waved his hand at the sound of both the door slamming and the beginning of John’s tirade. “How is this my fault? All I did was say she would save a lot of money if instead of increasing her bust with implants she focused on the true source of her unhappiness.”

John threw his hands out, shrugging. “You’re not supposed to tell someone you think their nose is too big!”

“I didn’t think her nose was too big.” Sherlock unbuttoned his jacket and slipped into his chair before picking up his violin. “She did.”

John paced back and forth. “Do you know how much trouble this is going to be to sort out?”

“Don’t bother.” Sherlock leaned back. “You were being used as a source of sexual release until she met her Soulmate.”

“Not seeing a problem with that, Sherlock!” John raked his fingers through his hair. “You do understand that I would like to find someone to be with, right? I don’t want to be alone.”

Sherlock crinkled his nose, shaking his head. “You’re not alone. You have me.”

“Great.” John threw himself into his chair across from Sherlock. “I have a temperamental, asexual, insensitive prat of a soulmate... Who is also a _man_. Is it any wonder I don’t mind if some woman wants to get off with me while she waits for her Soulmate to show up? Unmarked people are really rare.”

Sherlock plucked delicately at the strings of his violin. He pointedly ignored the mention of his own sexuality. He didn’t care to correct anyone on their misconceptions. “If I were you, I would focus on women whose Soulmates have died. With our line of work you’re much more likely to meet those.”

“You’re a ghoul.”

“Doesn’t make me less correct.” Sherlock brought his violin to rest underneath his chin. “Cheer up, John... Eventually you’ll meet someone I think is appropriate.”

John rolled his eyes. “That _you_ think is appropriate.”

“Well, you are my Soulmate, aren’t you? Of course I need to approve of her. I’m not going to let you settle.”

John nodded. “Right then. So you said that to Lauren on purpose.”

Sherlock raised his bow. “Well, she was a waste of your time. You thought the sex was subpar anyway.”

“It was still sex!”

It was now Sherlock’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh what you people will waste your time on...”

* * *

“And what will John Watson think about this?” Irene Adler asked as she stalked through the hotel suite, as naked as she’d been when Sherlock had first met her. Only this time, he was as naked as she was, the Dopamine, Norepinephrine, Oxytocin and Serotonin still flooding his body.

“I assure you, John Watson has been the last thing on my mind for the past...” Sherlock glanced over at the clock. “Three hours.” Well, that certainly put his experiments during Uni to shame. He shouldn’t have expected less from the Woman.

“But he is your Soulmate.” Irene slunk onto the bed. “I know all about the distinction between a good time and one’s Soulmate, but...”

“But John Watson would be happy to find out I’ve gotten shagged. He’s been alluding for ages that I really need to do something of the sort.” Sherlock grunted as he pulled himself out of bed to grab his trousers.

“Are you sure it wasn’t an invitation?” Irene chuckled throatily.

“I have an invitation for you.” Sherlock took a file folder from the desk and threw it onto the bed beside Irene. “Well, less of an invitation and more of an insistence. America is the only place for you. There is a plane ticket to New Jersey in there, along with all of the documentation you’ll need. I had to go through some new channels. Mycroft wasn’t an option.”

Taking hold of Irene’s wrist, Sherlock turned it over, tracing the name lying there. “Perhaps instead of getting yourself into trouble this time you should seek Godiva Marie Norton.”

Irene smiled. “You already know she’s in New Jersey, don’t you?”

"Her contact information is with your travel documents." Sherlock smiled. “If there’s anyone who needed sorting out by a Soulmate, it’s you.”

Irene turned her arm, placing her hand over Sherlock’s wrist. “Well, Mister Holmes... I should thank you for all of this.”

Sherlock blinked. “What was the three hours of sex then?”

Irene sat up on her haunches. “That was for saving my life. This is a completely new debt.”

Sherlock glanced over Irene. At her cool stare, her lush lips, her elegant frame. Finally, he nodded his head and pressed himself back into her arms.

* * *

“All my life I’ve been searching for distractions.” Moriarty pushed up the sleeve of his coat, the layers of fabric making it difficult, but he’d managed.

On his arm was the name _Sherlock Holmes_.

It wasn’t real. It was impossible. A person’s name could only be on one arm. It wasn’t even his full name. But Sherlock had heard of it before, dealt with it in cases, people faking Soulmarks in order to scam someone else or steal an identity.

“You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have _you._ Because I’ve beaten you.”

It was a blur. Sherlock knew what had happened, but it all seemed to happen so quickly. His mind refused to focus, instead screaming at him for what he was planning.

He knew what had to be done. Still, every part of his being screamed out at the idea of doing it. He was going to tear himself away from John for God knew how long. He was going to let his Soulmate believe he was dead.

As he climbed onto the ledge of Barts he tried to push aside the statistics in his head, the suicide rates of people who had lost their Soulmates. What would happen to a man who has lost his Soulmate, who self-medicated his PTSD with adrenaline inducing dangerous situations?

No, John would be okay. It was what a Soulmate was supposed to do. Protect the other. Where he was going, John couldn’t follow.

John needed to stay in London. John needed to move on, to meet some nice woman who treated him well.

A Soulmate was supposed to do what was best for his Match.

And what was best for John Watson was to be as far from Sherlock Holmes as possible.

* * *

Molly was always just _there_. Her analysis that she didn’t count was erroneous. It was just that Sherlock had never bothered to think about how much she did. He could always depend on her, so he never really thought about the fact that he could rely on her, no matter what he needed.

She was an open book to him. Just one glance into her large brown eyes and he knew what she wanted, what she needed. There was only one question that nagged at him.

Why did she desire him so ardently, knowing that his name was written upon John Watson’s arm? Sherlock couldn’t fathom why Molly would devote her heart to him when there was another person she was perfectly fit for.

Even with that question hanging between them-- the nagging knowledge he was but a placeholder for her true heart’s desire-- the kiss between them had been electric. Maybe it was the adrenaline following his leap. Maybe it was some sense of misplaced gratitude towards his savior. Maybe it was a need to connect, not knowing when he would see his Soulmate again.

Whatever the reason, he pulled her close to him and ravaged her mouth. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling it from the tight ponytail.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling like that. The sparse few drugged experimentations, his passionate night with Irene Adler...

He had always been told nothing would compare to the moment he met his Soulmate. But even shaking hands with John Watson felt dull compared to the way his body lit up when he kissed Molly Hooper.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about that. He wasn’t even sure what had happened.

He pulled back from Molly, resisting the urge to take her kiss-swollen mouth yet again.

Sherlock needed time to think. He needed to sort out how he felt.

Two years would probably do it.


	2. Chapter 2

Honestly, Sherlock had expected no less from John’s reaction to him.

Well, perhaps he hadn’t expected to be choked. A bloodied nose, maybe, but John was definitely not going to let him get away unscathed.

Despite trying to fight the smaller man off of him, Sherlock couldn't stop the swell of relief that had washed over him at the sight of John.

His Soulmate. His Soulmate was still there. Still okay. Nothing had changed.

He was angry, yes... That was just a sign of how much John had missed him. He still possessed the same fire. Now that they were back together, everything could go back to normal...

For two years he had thought about what his return would be like. It was the only thing that had kept him going. He and John would go out on cases again. He would annoy Mycroft and Lestrade. Mrs Hudson would dote on him. Molly....

Molly was still a question mark, wasn’t she?

But there was John. Everything would work out, now that they were back together. Maybe now that he was back with his Soulmate he would forget the nagging feelings of longing for the pathologist’s kiss....

* * *

“I’ll talk him ‘round.”

Sherlock blinked at Mary Morstan. He’d known she was there through his entire encounter with John, but he’d only _really_ noticed her in that moment.

This was her. This was the woman John was going to marry. The woman _his Soulmate_ was going to marry.

As he looked her over, made the random deductions about her life-- _Bakes her own bread, liar, secret tattoo, dead Soulmate_ \-- It clicked into place.

A Soulmate guided you on your destined path. John’s destined path was to this woman, to Mary Morstan. Sherlock’s part in that was to die so John could move on... Move to her.

“I think he knew, you know,” Mary added. “That you were alive. It might have been deep down, but he still knew. When your Soulmate dies, you feel it.” She smiled, looking over at her soon-to-be-fiance. “Maybe that’s why he’s so mad. Because he ignored that feeling. Ignored the truth.”

Oh yes, she would definitely do, wouldn’t she?

* * *

“But you can’t do this again, can you?”

It had been like a date. Even if John hadn’t told him to fuck off, Sherlock was sure he would’ve ended up taking Molly with him. The moment he had seen her in Bart’s locker room he’d known. The _things_ that had stirred up within him when he’d kissed her after the fall were still there.

Molly smiled at him, but it was hollow, forced. Tinged with something Sherlock couldn’t even describe. “I had a lovely day. I’d love to – I just... Um...”

The moment he’d seen her in the locker room he had been tempted-- so very, very _tempted_ \-- to just take her in his arms and kiss her breathless once again. The need had only increased when she came to 221B. He’d only restrained himself because of all of the new questions it would have opened up. The one before he left was easily dismissed by the high emotions of the moment. Sherlock wasn’t sure he was ready for anything more than that.

Now-- as he gazed at the diamond solitare on Molly’s finger-- he cursed himself. He could’ve returned sooner. He could’ve given messages to Molly. He could’ve... He could’ve...

No, he couldn’t.

It was how it was supposed to go, wasn’t it? He went away and let Molly’s heart go. She was free to be able to find her real Soulmate. Whatever feelings she’d had for him had been a fancy.

“Oh, congratulations, by the way.” It took every ounce of his subterfuge skills to sound like he meant it. It was on the tip of his tongue, the urge to tell her that her Soulmate was a waste of her time. That he had been thinking of her since the moment he’d left London. That’d he’d woken up in the night, in shacks across Europe, just wishing she were in bed beside him.

“We met through friends, the old-fashioned way.” Sherlock wanted to tell Molly to stop speaking. He didn’t need to hear her gush about how wonderful her Soulmate was. How Sherlock paled in comparison to him.

But Molly continued to ramble. “He’s nice. We ... he’s got a dog ... we-we go to the pub on weekends and he ... I’ve met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family. I’ve no idea why I’m telling you this.”

She _was_ truly rambling. This wasn’t glowing praise of her Soulmate.

She didn’t know why she was telling him about her fiancé, because she knew-- deep down-- he didn’t want to hear it.

Maybe-- deep down-- she didn’t want to _say_ it. How perfect was this match for her?

Could destiny have messed up?

Noble and Sherlock Holmes were not words that typical went together. He was a selfish and demanding man.

But he couldn’t make demands of Molly, could he? As he looked into her soft, vulnerable brown eyes, he knew he couldn’t tell her. Everything that had been simmering over the past two years needed to be pushed aside.

If Molly Hooper had found her Soulmate, she needed to truly let go of Sherlock. And he needed to let go of her. “I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths.”

“No?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No.” He smiled at her, praying to the cruel fates he didn’t look as wistful as he felt. He leaned in close to her, allowing himself a second of weakness, taking in her scent.

He let his mouth linger for only a moment against her cheek.

It would have been so easy to just slightly tilt his mouth, to properly kiss Molly. He ached to feel her mouth once again.

But no, he wouldn’t give in.

He pulled away. While Molly’s eyes were still closed he strode out of the hallway and out onto the streets. The farther he got from Molly Hooper, the better. The temptation was too great.

* * *

“Are you going to tell me why you’re in such a sulk?” John stood over Sherlock, arms crossed over his chest.

Sherlock stretched his legs out, letting his feet dangling over the sofa. He pulled his silk dressing gown tighter around himself. “I’m not in a sulk,” Sherlock groused. His jaw jutted out slightly as he ground his teeth. “I’m just bored.”

John shook his head. “This is not you bored. You’d be shooting the wall or dissecting a brain if you were.”

Sherlock scowled and turned onto his side away from John. Dissecting a brain would require going to Barts. If he went to Barts he would see Molly.

He would see Molly’s ring.

“Is this about me and Mary?”

Sherlock furrowed his brow, peering over his shoulder. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

“I know it’s a big change.” John pulled up the client chair and sat down. “But we’re still going to be able to go out. Mary likes us working together. She might even want to come with us some time...”

“This _isn’t_ about you and Mary.” Sherlock rolled onto his other side. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing,” John sighed. “Come on, Sherlock... Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I thought you were more British than this, John. So concerned about _feelings_.”

John blinked. “Oh so there are feelings, are there? Sherlock, I’m your Soulmate. I’m the one person you can tell this kind of stuff to.”

Sherlock steepled his fingers underneath his chin. Time dragged slowly, silently.

Letting out a noisy sigh, Sherlock leaned back on the sofa. “Do you think she’ll be happy?”

“I hope so,” John sighed. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to marry her if I didn’t think I would make her happy.”

“I’m not talking about Mary!” Sherlock snapped. “I already told you that!”

“Then who are you talking about?” John asked.

“Molly!” Sherlock sat up. “Molly Hooper! Do you think she’s going to be happy with that imitator?”

“Why do you care?” John’s frown lines became more pronounced as his mouth curved down. “You’ve never worried about Molly Hooper before.”

Sherlock curled up on himself, keeping himself turned away from John. He muttered into the sofa cushion. “I told her I want her to be happy. I _don’t_ want her to be happy. I want her to be with me.”

“What was that?” John asked.

“Nothing.” Sherlock groused. “It’s not important.”

“You brought up Molly Hooper.” John sighed. “And if she’s happy with Tom. If I think she is.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sherlock pulled himself off the sofa, waving towards the door. “Go home and talk to your fiancée about... China patterns or...” He frowned slightly, thinking about what an engaged couple might discuss. “...Prenuptial Agreements.”

“Fine. Be like that.” John rose from his chair. “You know, a Soulmate is supposed to help you. But if you don’t want my help, I’m not going to twist your arm to get you to talk to me. If you want to talk, you know where I am. Until then, at least get dressed before you have a client come by and see you look so pathetic.”

With that, John stormed out of the flat. Sherlock threw himself back down onto the sofa, his mind refusing to move past his current dilemma.

* * *

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Sherlock didn’t even look to see who was standing in his doorway. He didn’t need to. He knew she was there. He knew she had followed him from the wedding.

“Why not?” Molly challenged. The floorboards creaked under her footsteps. “This can’t be easy for you. Your soulmate married someone else. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Finally, Sherlock turned to Molly. He narrowed his gaze on her, wanting for all the world to hate her from the bottom of her feet all the way up to the stupid yellow bow in her hair. “And what about you, Miss Hooper? Why are you with me rather than _your_ Soulmate? You didn’t even think twice about leaving him alone.”

Molly frowned, shaking her head. “What are you talking about, Sherlock?”

Sherlock grabbed her wrist. “Tom. You abandoned him at John’s reception to come to see me. Not a very nice thing to do to your Soul--“

He turned her wrist up and stopped short. His thumb caressed over the smooth skin, unmarred by a name.

“Where is it?” Sherlock’s voice came out a croak. “Where is Tom’s name?”

“Not on my arm,” Molly replied, extracting her wrist from Sherlock’s hold. “I haven’t anyone’s name on me. I’m meant to be alone.”

How could he have missed that? He'd known Molly Hooper for years. Never for a moment did he think she didn't have a match. There was always something, wasn't there?

He wanted to scream that of course she wasn’t meant to be alone. No one as good and pure as Molly could have been meant to be alone. Him yes... Even his own Soulmate had a better match... But not Molly. Never Molly. “And Tom? He’s...”

Molly shook her head. “Not Unmarked. His fiancée died in a car accident when they were in Uni.” She lowered her gaze. “The person he’s supposed to be with is gone. But he cares about me. He--” Her voice wavered and she went quiet. Sherlock had taken a hold of her arm again, stroking over the white, unmarred flesh of her arm. She looked up finally, licking her lips. “Do you think it’s possible to love someone-- really love someone-- who is not your Soulmate?”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s voice was huskier than he meant. He took a step towards Molly. “Look at the Watsons.”

Molly visibly gulped. “And you’re okay with that? Your Soulmate... Being with someone else?”

“A Soulmate doesn’t mean the person you’re in love with, Molly Hooper.” Sherlock brought her hand up to his chest, pressing it to his heart. “You want what is best for your Soulmate. And Mary is what is best for mine.”

Molly bit her lower lip. “And what’s best for you?”

What happened was not what was best. It was the worst choice Sherlock could have made. He couldn’t stop himself, tugging the small woman to him and taking her mouth passionately.

Molly gasped into his mouth, but did not pull away from him. She brought a leg up to wrap around his waist, rucking her skirt up in the process. Sherlock groaned as he felt her knickers press against him.

It was Sherlock who finally pulled away from the kiss, although he still continued to lead Molly towards his bedroom. “Molly... Are you... Sure?”

“Shut up, Sherlock,” Molly murmured. “Just shut up for once.”

And for once, he listened. Sherlock stopped talking and gave himself over to the hunger that had been growing within him for over two years. As he peeled off her yellow dress he did his best to ignore the feeling of her engagement ring against his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Panting, Sherlock tossed his head back as he ruffled his curls. He swatted Molly’s pert arse before rolling over onto his back. He was gasping for a cigarette, but Molly would certainly object.

“Well.” Molly got off her hands and knees and curled up beside him. “You’re acting differently.”

“Oh?” Sherlock arched a brow. “How so?”

“It’s just unlike you to... Do that.” Molly giggled softly, turning her head.

Sherlock grinned, draping an arm around Molly. “How do you know what I'm like? We’ve only been doing this for two weeks.”

“Nearly every night for two weeks,” Molly pointed out. She traced lazy patterns over his chest. “After yesterday I was worried you might be getting bored with me.”

Sherlock clutched Molly tighter. He had been having difficulties, but it had absolutely nothing to do with Molly. With the steps he was taking for his new case, he’d found performance a bit tricky.

That was why he was sure to do some cocaine before visiting. Heroin was no friend to one’s libido, but if he could maintain a balance maybe he could keep Molly’s interest.

He might have swung a bit too far in the opposite direction.

“I was just trying something new,” Sherlock demurred. “Did you like it?”

The blush in Molly’s cheeks and her continued giggles were all the answer he needed. She leaned in and gave him a peck on the mouth. “I’ve got time for a shower but then I’m going to have to go off to work. You okay getting off?”

Sherlock smirked. “I believe I just did, Miss Hooper.”

Molly smacked him gently before pulling herself out of bed. She bustled around the room, picking up abandoned pieces of clothing. “Just make sure to lock up before you leave. Did you want to come in tonight? Mike is starting to complain about the liver you’ve been experimenting on.”

“Can’t.” Sherlock yawned. “I have a date.”

Molly paused. After a long moment she looked up at Sherlock. “Sorry... I thought I heard you say you have a date.”

“That’s what I did say,” Sherlock replied. “I’m going out with Janine.”

Molly covered her face with her hands. She then ran them up, smoothing down her rumpled hair. “Sherlock... You still have the condom on your prick from having sex with me and you’re telling me you’re going on a date with Mary’s Chief Bridesmaid.”

With a scowl, Sherlock rid himself of the aforementioned sheath and tossed it in the bin. “It’s not like that Molly.”

“It’s not like what?” Molly asked. “I saw you two at the wedding. You were very friendly. And now you’re going to go on a date with her.”

“It’s for a case,” Sherlock sighed. He was already exhausted by the conversation. His skin was beginning to prickle uncomfortably. “What would make you think I would have any interest in Janine?”

Molly shrugged. “You weren’t interested in me until two weeks ago. Maybe you’re interested in playing the field.”

“This is all a bit rich, coming from someone who is still engaged. Or have you finally told _Meat Dagger_ you've been fucking me?” He hadn’t meant to say it. The cocaine was wearing off and Sherlock was longing for a hit of heroin to level him out, to soothe his mind. Instead he found himself unable to hold his poison tongue.

Molly sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. She brought up her knees, hugging them to her chest.

Sherlock groaned. He had been trying so hard not to hurt Molly, especially since they had begun their physical relationship.

“Molly.” Sherlock crawled across the bed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes you did,” Molly murmured. “And you’re right. I’m a slag.”

“You’re not a slag,” Sherlock sighed, nuzzling his nose against Molly’s neck. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to hurt him.” Molly took hold of Sherlock’s hand, squeezing tightly. “I don’t want to do that.”

“What’s going to hurt him more?” Sherlock asked. “Telling him you don’t want to get married or having him catch us together?”

Slowly, Molly nodded. “I know, I know... It’s just...”

“It’s going to hurt him,” Sherlock repeated. “But you can’t marry him just to avoid having an awkward conversation.”

Tears clung to Molly’s eyelashes. She cuddled to his chest. “We should stop doing this.”

Sherlock stroked Molly’s hair, closing his eyes. “I would really rather not.” He pressed a kiss to Molly’s hairline. “Unless... You don’t want to stay with Tom, do you?”

Molly shook her head. She tilted her head up to him. “There’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted.”

Sherlock cupped her cheek. He smiled down at her. “Well. Then that’s settled.” He sighed. “I’ll still need to see Janine. I promise you... This case is of the utmost importance.”

That was how he was justifying it, wasn't it? He wouldn't turn to drugs for any other reason. He didn't need them any longer. It was just for the case.

With a sigh, Molly pressed close to him. “We’re absolutely mad. Completely and utterly...” She frowned slightly, pressing a hand to his heart. “Sherlock, your heart is racing.”

“We’ve been busy,” Sherlock lied. The itch beneath his skin was getting stronger and stronger. He took hold of Molly’s hand, pressing a kiss to the knuckles before pulling back. “Now we have things to do. I’ve got a case to pursue and you’ve got a fiancée to break up with.”

“You’re right.” Molly reached for her blouse. “Don’t get into trouble.”

Sherlock forced himself to smile. “I only get into trouble for the best of reasons.”

The itch was starting to get stronger still. The sooner he could get a fix the better.

* * *

“Why are you calling _me_?”

Sherlock frowned at Mary’s question. He was lying back on the sofa in 221B, the phone pressed to his ear. “Well, I was under the impression that we got along. Do you not want to talk to me?”

Mary sighed. “I like you just fine, Sherlock. I just know you haven’t talked to my husband-- your Soulmate-- in weeks. I don’t understand why you’re calling me instead of John.”

Sherlock wasn’t really certain himself. John had sworn things wouldn’t change after he got married. They could still go out on cases together.

Marriage might not have changed things. But the situation was more complicated than that. There was a baby to think about.

Could Sherlock really drag an expectant father out on cases, especially one as dangerous as he was now? “John’s got... Things...”

“Not anything more than usual.” Mary sighed once again. “All right, more than usual. But the baby is staying put for months still. There’s not a whole lot John can do at the moment. He’s dead bored just being at home and working. He’s put on seven pounds already!”

Sherlock sat up. Seven pounds in the span of three weeks? Even Mycroft didn’t grow at such a prodigious rate. Maybe he should take John out for a case...

He glanced to the coffee table, at the needle he’d carefully laid out along with the small bag of white powder. He ruffled his curls. “I don’t have anything right now, Mary. Seems the criminal class are taking their holidays.”

“You could still talk to him. You two aren’t just partners in crime solving. You’re friends. Friends talk to each other about things that are going on in their lives.”

Sherlock snorted. Talking to John about what was going on in his life? Oh, he could imagine that conversation:

“ _I’m dating Mary’s Chief Bridesmaid in order to infiltrate her boss’s office. He is so despicable even Mycroft won’t touch him. Also, I’ve been shagging Molly Hooper behind her fiancé’s back. Oh, before I forget I’m spending about eighty-five percent of my waking hours on a mix of cocaine and heroin.”_

Mary laughed. “Sorry. I forgot. If you don’t have a case going on you don’t have _anything_ going on. What are you doing with yourself now that you don’t have a wedding to plan?”

Sherlock reached for the needle on the table. “Well, I keep myself busy...” His fingers wrapped around the syringe. “Got to go, Mary.”

He hung up the phone and continued to stare at the needle. Slowly, he licked his lips.

“Oh, I just had an awful night!” The door swung open and Janine bustled in. “Meetings all day...”

Sherlock hurriedly packed away his kit and shoved the box beneath the sofa. “I didn’t think you were coming over tonight.” He jumped to his feet, striding to Janine and placing a kiss on her lips.

It felt so _wrong_. Her mouth was the incorrect shape and she was too tall and...

She wasn’t Molly.

He pulled back quickly. “I was just on my way out, Darling. Urgent case.” He smiled at her apologetically. “But please... Make yourself at home. Order some takeaway. Have a nice, hot bath.” He leaned into her ear. “When I get back maybe I’ll give you a foot rub.”

Janine gave him a coy smirk. “Maybe I’ll let you rub more than that.”

“Maybe I’ll hold you to that.” Sherlock walked towards the door, wanting to get out of the flat as soon as possible. He grabbed his coat and scarf along the way. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Ten minutes. That was all it would take in traffic. Even that was too long. His knee bounced in the back of the cab.

Finally, he arrived at the modest flat. He threw a few bills at the cabbie and strode to the building. He pressed the buzzer.

The door opened a moment later. “What are you doing here?” Molly asked, leaning against the frame.

She wouldn’t have answered if _he_ had been there. He answered her by cupping her face in his gloved hands, kissing her breathlessly as he led her back into the building.

“Sherlock...” Molly gasped between kisses. “We really... Have to... Stop...”

“Can’t.” Sherlock trailed his kisses down her slender throat. “Need a bolthole. Is your bedroom available?”

Molly clutched tightly to him. “I’m... I’m going to be in it.”

Sherlock smirked. “Even better.”

* * *

He didn’t mind John finding out about his renewed drugs use.

He should have. It should have been a problem. His Soulmate having such a low opinion of him should have bothered him. But Sherlock had never cared what anyone thought about him or what he did. John knew what he was and he needed to accept it.

That was why he was so surprised when Molly slapped him.

It wasn’t that she was angry. That was to be expected. No one was ever pleased when he started using again.

It wasn’t even that she’d shown her anger so violently. His Molly-- when had he begun to think of her as _his_ Molly?-- could be a hellcat when she was riled. He had earned that ire from her.

What surprised him was that he _cared_. He cared that he disappointed Molly so badly. He didn’t want to look at her hardened face, see the look of hurt and fury in her usually sweet brown eyes.

He made a crack about her lack of an engagement ring, but it only made his stomach drop. She’d done it. She’d finally done it. Tom was out of the picture and he knew why. It was because of him. She had left Tom for him.

But with the look in her eyes... He could see how much she regretted that decision.

So he pushed on. He didn’t know how to deal with the heartbreak of a woman. All he knew how to do was work cases and Magnussen might’ve been the most important he’d ever worked-- even worse than Moriarty. Everything he had done was for the greater good. He couldn’t give up, no matter how much he had let her down.

“You’ve heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course,” Sherlock turned to John in the cab. When had they gotten into a cab? Had he gotten so lost in his thoughts about Molly?

“Yeah, owns some newspapers. Ones I don’t read.”

Sherlock looked around. “Hang on... Weren’t there other people?”

“Mary’s taking the boys home. I’m taking you. We did discuss this.”

“People were talking. None of them me. I must have filtered.” Sherlock tried to steel himself. He needed to get himself under control. If he was going to take down Charles Augustus Magnussen, he couldn’t let his mind wander. He couldn’t think about the woman at Bart’s.

No matter how much he’d hurt her.

* * *

Sherlock was deep in his Mind Palace. He went through all of the information he’d gotten from his meeting with Magnussen once again. He needed to make sure his movements were perfect. He carefully reviewed his relationship with Janine. Was a proposal the correct way to go? Perhaps seducing her into a quickie in her boss’s office would be better... Janine would probably love to screw over her boss by screwing on his desk... No, a proposal would be much faster. And there was Mycroft to deal with. Lady Smallwood would have to sort out the British Government...

“Are you high?”

The words managed to break through his thought processes. Normally he would not succumb to such prompting.

But he’d succumbed to a lot when it came to that voice.

He opened his eyes and looked at Molly. Her expression was just as angry as it had been the last time he had seen her. The last thing he needed to deal with was a row. “Can we do this later, Molly? I’m on a case. This is important.”

Molly shook her head. “No, not later, Sherlock. I’m important.” She bit her lower lip. “Do you realize that... At all?”

Sherlock stretched out his legs. “Judging by your face, you’re not here for a quick one after work. Wouldn’t have time for that anyway. I don’t think you’re going to cry and beg me to go to rehab either.” He couldn’t stop the cruel smile from curling his lips. “I should remind you since you’ve been engaged the entire time we’ve been shagging it’s hardly necessary to break up with me because of my drugs use.”

Molly hissed in a breath, taking a step back. His ability to hurt her was still at top form. “You don’t care, do you? Did any of this mean anything to you? Or was it just because you were on drugs?”

“It’s a case,” Sherlock insisted. “I needed to do drugs because...”

“You needed to do drugs because you’re a _junkie_ ,” Molly spat. “I don’t care what kind of case you’re on. You’re so clever, you really couldn’t find another way other than shooting up? You did it because you _wanted to_. I gave up _everything_ for you. And you put me in danger.”

“I never.” Sherlock pulled himself out of his chair. “I never did anything that would...”

“You’ve been shooting up while you’ve been having sex with me.” Molly shook her head. “I’m a doctor. I know what the dangers are.”

“I’m careful.”

“Because drugs users are known to be meticulous.” Molly sneered. “A junkie’s word is worthless. You came to me when you were high, didn’t you?” She waved a hand. “Don’t even bother saying anything. I already know.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a paper. She shoved it against his chest. “I have test results for you.”

Sherlock tossed aside the paper. “I already know what you found.”

Molly wiped away a tear. “They aren’t your test results, Sherlock.” She turned her back to him. “We both should have been more careful.”

As Molly left the flat, Sherlock knelt down and picked up the paper once again. He scanned over the data. As the information sank, he sat back on the ground, his eyes going wide.

* * *

“Sherlock! Sherlock!”

Sherlock blinked, looking up at John. “What are you doing?”

“Are you on something?” John demanded. “I’ve been trying to get your attention _for three hours.”_

“I was thinking,” Sherlock muttered, looking down at the paper he still held. “Three hours? We were supposed to meet...”

“At Hatton Garden. Last night. You never showed up. After waiting a ridiculous amount of time I decided you had probably OD’d here. But here you were... Just sitting around.” John shook his head savagely. “I don’t know why I bother with you, Sherlock. This is ridiculous.”

“I had things to think about.” Sherlock scrambled off the floor, the paper still tight in his hand. “Things that were more important.”

“More important?” John laughed. “What happened to Magnussen being so fucking important?”

“Things change.” Sherlock blinked. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Oh we’re going to deal with this.” John balled his fists. “I’m calling Mycroft right now. We’re going to get you into rehab.”

Sherlock’s mind felt fuzzy. His mind had never felt fuzzy in his entire life. Even the most potent of opiates had never been able to cause such disruption. “I believe Mycroft’s got one in his contacts...”

“Yes, I do.”

Sherlock turned to see Mycroft standing in the doorway. He raised his umbrella to point it at Sherlock. “But rehab might not be your biggest concern at the moment.”

“It’s not,” Sherlock muttered, gripping the paper tighter.

“The police will be here shortly to get your alibi. I do hope it’s something better than getting strung out on your floor. That doesn’t really hold up in court.”

“Court?” John repeated. “What court are you talking about?”

“The one that will be prosecuting whomever killed Charles Augustus Magnussen last night. He was found shot in his office just a few hours ago. Sherlock, I do very much hope you had nothing to do with this.”

“I didn’t. Magnussen doesn’t matter.” Sherlock paced, uncertain of what he was supposed to do with himself.

John grabbed him by the shoulders. The touch of his Soulmate was like balm, making the static in Sherlock’s mind quiet. “Sherlock, talk to me. Yesterday, you said nothing was more important than Magnussen. What’s changed?”

Sherlock held out his hand, the one clutching the test results. “Molly Hooper is pregnant.”


End file.
